


Whose Horse Is That?

by StopLookingHere



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/M, Female Hange Zoë, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Social Season, World War I
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:33:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29350512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StopLookingHere/pseuds/StopLookingHere
Summary: The year is 1914, and Hange Zoe is fresh off the boat from America to take part in England's annual social season, with one destination in mind: find a husband and carry on the family wealth. When a brooding man shows up to win every horse race planned on record, it raises the question: whose horse is that? Who is that man? Levi and Hange's fates are inevitably intertwined from the moment she steps on British soil. This is the story of their love.
Relationships: Levi & Hange Zoë, Levi/Hange Zoë
Comments: 15
Kudos: 64





	1. Arrival

The salty air finally starting to smell a bit fresher. It had been many weeks since Hange last saw dry land, and as she claps her book shut, she takes in the sights from the deck of the ship that had been her temporary home. The Port of London was not exactly attractive, nor did it show off the architecture and class she had been expecting, but _still._ It was dry land. Finally, it smelled like something more than fish: steam engines, gasoline, and motor oil. It was not exactly ladylike for her, but those smells brought her some joy.

“Hange,” her brother’s voice called out to her. “You shouldn’t stand on the deck while we’re trying to dock. They have a job to do, you know. Your dress might get wet, and it’s cold.”

“But Moblit,” she grinned, “It smells like cars!”

“We have an impression to make,” he reminded her, tugging at her arm gently but firmly. “Besides, I’m serious. We both should get back down.”

She sighed and took the wide-brimmed hat off her head, clutching it to her chest. The air ran through her hair, pulling a few stray clumps out to fly up onto her forehead. “Fine. I just can’t wait to explore.”

The hat came back on, and the two walked back below decks to their quarters. It would only be a half an hour until their shoes stepped back on land, and both were more than excited. Sure, they had a purpose for coming to England: find a lover, secure the family fortune, and have enough children to carry on their legacy. The British social season was the perfect time to do exactly that, and have a little fun while they could.

“What have you been reading lately?” Moblit asked her as they watched the men in charge of docking the boat through the porthole. “I haven’t heard much from you in the past couple days.”

“Oh! It’s a book on human anatomy. There’s a part about a condition called diabetes that is really interesting to me. Apparently, they’ve found out that people with that condition are missing a function of their body. But, we don’t know if we can replace it yet,” Hange explained. “They’re calling it ‘insulin.”

Moblit’s amber eyes flashed. “Do you still want to be a doctor, Miss Hange?”

She felt her cheeks grow warm and chose then to place the book into her suitcase. “It doesn’t matter.”

He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose and brought his hand up through his hair. “Well, with the way things are looking in the world lately, you could at least be a nurse.”

The sudden stress in her brother’s demeanor wiped the embarrassment from the forefront of her mind. “Listen, if it comes to that, you know I will.”

“We’ll have to go back to America, if we can,” Moblit explained. “But it will be dangerous. I can’t imagine they will be allowing normal sea travel. We might be here longer than we expect.”

“I can learn to love it here,” Hange reasoned.

“You haven’t even seen the city,” Moblit fired back.

With no adequate reply in mind, Hange just sat back down and toyed with the ribbon at the edge of her hat. Of course, her brother would know it is her dream to be a doctor. _But women don’t become doctors_ , she reminded herself. _They just become bedside nurses and offer comfort._ It seemed like a miserable fate for herself in the medical world. But, if there was a war like they all said there would be, then maybe she could make herself useful. It would be better than nothing, at least.

“I apologize, sister. I shouldn’t talk to you like you’re one of the men.”

“I rather you did, to be quite frank,” She replied. “If we have all this money and power, even if I’m a woman, I should be aware.”

The movement of the boat finally stopped, and a voice from above called out letting them know it was time to de-board. Chatter spread through the boat like wildfire, and soon it was full of the sounds of people grabbing luggage, putting on shoes, and walking towards the exit.

Hange looked at her brother, shrugged, and grabbed the smallest suitcase, knowing it would be a scandal if she grabbed one any bigger. She secured her hat with an extra pin and tucked the stray hairs back under it, smoothed her skirt, and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. Finally, land!

As they walked across the dock out to the street, Moblit grinned, finally feeling some of the excited energy Hange did. “By the way Hange, I just want you to know. I respect you. But let me know if you ever want me to stop treating you like the boys.”

“Absolutely,” she replied.

A man stood in front of a car holding a piece of paper with their names on it, and in a quick few minutes, their possessions were stowed, and they were on their way to the residence that would serve them well for the next half-year.

It was a small residence by their standards, and quite small compared to the others in the area, but it would serve them well, nonetheless. The bricks had been recently cleaned and stood out deep red against the white trimming of the house, and when one looked at the shining windows, they also saw brightly colored flowerboxes underneath them. The top floor seemed to boast a large balcony spanning across the whole front of the house, and the grass was surprisingly green for mid-March.

Arriving at the front of the house, three people stood to meet them, one who was quite familiar to the brother-sister pair.

“Kenny!” Moblit shouted, rushing up to give his friend a hug. “It’s been so long!”

Kenny gave Moblit a small smile, a rarity for the man, and a surprise to Hange. “You two were just children when I last saw you. Now you’re out here looking for love.”

“Hange, you’ve gotten so tall,” he remarked. “And you are as beautiful as always. You two will have a great time here.”

“Thank you for having us, Mr. Ackerman,” Hange replied. “I can only hope I’m as beautiful as your home here.”

This earned her another smile, much to her joy. “This is but a cottage, Hange!”

It had been so long since she had seen Kenny smile. Sure, he made sure to keep in touch with the family through letters and photos, but since his sister Kuchel had died, those smiles had become few and far between. His letters never had the same kind of wry wit to them they had in previous years. Still, she knew he was capable of it. Kenny rarely took up the opportunity to make a good joke, but he could only joke if there were people around.

They chatted for a bit on the front steps there, catching up on life and musing about the weather while the two servants brought their luggage in. Finally, Kenny led them inside to the warmth of the foyer, much to the pair’s relief. The combination of the bitter British cold and them trying to get their land legs back meant that standing and chatting, while fun, was quite the chore.

“Moblit, Hange, please meet my two favorite servants. This is Connie and Sasha. If you have any needs or worries during your stay here, please call upon them. They are kind and capable,” Kenny explained as he led them up the stairs. “Hange, your room will be on the last door to the left down this hall, and Sasha’s quarters are right across from yours. There is a washroom just next door, too. Moblit, yours is the same, but down over here,” he gestured to a hall across the way. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to check up on dinner, so take your time to settle in. It should be on the table at around seven o’clock.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ackerman,” the siblings replied together. Moblit walked Hange to her room with Sasha in tow, and then departed off to his own room.

Turning the knob on the door, Hange was greeted with a surprisingly spacious, but cozy room. Deep green velvet curtains were parted to show the street and balcony outside, their tails just barely brushing the floor. The bed was large and four-poster, with curtains for privacy. Her suitcases stood in one corner next to several large wardrobes, and there was a writing desk, end table, and a couch just large enough for two to sit and have tea. The green felt warm, welcoming, and inviting.

“Miss Zoe, Master Ackerman said your favorite color was green, so you were given this room. If you don’t like it, we can always change it,” Sasha spoke up.

“No, I adore it,” Hange replied, walking over to the bed. She pulled back the curtain and flopped onto the bed, sinking into the cushy goodness that was goose down. “I absolutely adore it,” she breathed.

“Would you like me to unpack your bags, Miss Zoe?” Sasha asked, unsure of what to do with her hands.

Feeling the effects of several weeks on a boat combined with the general exhaustion of travel, Hange simply rolled over onto her stomach. “It’s quite alright, Sasha. And please, just call me Hange. Could you please loosen my stays? I’d like to take a nap.”

“With pleasure, Hange.” Sasha’s fingers were swift and adept at loosening the corset, and in no time, she had Hange tucked into bed. “Should I come to you when dinner is about ready, then?”

“Yeah, that sounds good…” Hange trailed off, already half asleep.

The stillness of the bed and dry land. Finally, maybe she could get some good sleep.


	2. Ackerman

The click of a lamp awoke Hange from her rest, and indeed, it was quite a good nap. She slit her eyes open to see Sasha crouched over by the bed, peering through the curtains. With wider eyes, Hange took in the lamp, a beautiful stained-glass piece of artwork that scattered soft blue and purple light across the room.

“Dinner is ready, Hange,” Sasha said in a soft voice. “Shall I relace your corset and we’ll go down together?”

“Yeah,” Hange replied, her voice deep and croaky from sleep. She sat up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “The lamp is pretty.”

“It is designed by a man named Louis Tiffany,” Sasha explained as she laced the corset, rather loosely. “He’s famous for all the color he puts into these lamps. They’re crafted in a special way, too, which makes them quite unique.”

The journey down to the dining room was quiet, and it was clear Hange was the last person to arrive. Moblit and Kenny were already sat down, and Connie stood on standby next to a metal rolling cart with multiple covered dishes. Red wine had already been poured, but was it a mistake? There were six settings at the table, not three.

“Do we have guests?” Hange asked, not piecing it together as she sat down at the table next to Moblit.

“Sasha and Connie eat with us,” Kenny explained. “I cannot justify treating my servants like slaves.”

She shrugged, still confused. With a tired brain, it was easier to just accept that perhaps she was miscounting the people in the house, or maybe Kenny had some odd way of setting the table. Regardless, she remembered her parent’s teachings: she was a guest; she shall not complain.

“I suppose Levi is taking dinner at the stables?” Connie suggested after a moment. In the brilliant light of yet another Tiffany light, this one hanging from the ceiling, Connie’s brow furrowed against his short-cropped hair.

The sound of the front door opening and shutting and the sound of shoes clattering against the entryway answered Connie’s question, and the furrow disappeared. “Oi, Levi! You’re just in time!” He called out.

Levi passed through too quickly to get a good look at him. “I’ll wash up before we start.”

His voice was deep and somewhat monotone, as if he were bored of the mere concept of sitting down to have a dinner together. Hange and Moblit exchanged a glance, one that could only be translated to _what is this guy’s problem?_

“Alright, then. I’ll start serving for you,” was Connie’s only reply as he shook his head. Clearly, this was a common occurrence.

Out of the silver-topped dishes came something rather unexpected. It looked to be a loaf of bread, but it seemed much too small to be served to everyone. Under the next dish, a familiar vegetable – tender green beans with slivers of almond scattered, and under the next – pillowy rolls the size of large stones surrounding a soft looking dish of butter. If the bread was there, then why were they having more bread as the main dish?

“This is beef wellington,” Connie explained, noticing Hange’s confusion. He sliced into the bread-looking dish to reveal medium-rare meat rimmed in some kind of pate. “It is a French dish, with a tender cut of beef wrapped in minced mushroom and French pastry. It is my favorite to make for guests, and also Kenny’s favorite dish to eat.”

Kenny seemed to smile a lot more with Moblit and Hange around, or, maybe was it simply the fact that he had company? Regardless of the matter, he broke out into another grin, and brought his glass of wine to his lips. “Connie, if I weren’t so selfish, I would send you off to Buckingham to cook for the Queen.”

“You flatter me,” Connie replied, but it was clear that he was pleased as he went around the table plating the food. Levi finally made his way into the table and immediately drizzled his beef slice in an unidentified gravy before finally looking up at the rest of the table. Before long, everyone was seated.

“Let us pray,” Kenny reminded them all before they dug into the modest feast before them. After that, it was hard to restrain herself before Hange found herself digging into the meal. Kenny was right: it _was_ selfish for him to keep Connie all to himself. She found herself complimenting him throughout the meal on every aspect of it, and to her surprise, heard Sasha bolstering every compliment right after. _The two must be close,_ she thought to herself.

After a solid ten minutes of simple eating noises, except for Hange’s compliments, they all paused to take a drink and breathe normally again. The first sip of wine made Hange’s face twist up, and she knew it – she had a terrible poker face when it came to tasting things.

“Is it your first-time trying wine?” Came that same bored voice from Levi. She looked up at him, startled. “You look like you just smelled horse manure.”

She coughed, partially out of the dryness from the drink, and partially because _who in god’s name makes poop jokes at the dinner table?!_ She took another sip, finding it to be less dry and more fruity. “It’s improving as I drink it,” she defended, finally taking a moment to get a good look at him.

Levi was clearly shorter than Kenny, and while he looked similar, Kenny had never mentioned having a son or any other type of family aside from the late Kuchel. Still, he shared the same pale skin, dark eyes, and dark hair as Kenny, although he seemed significantly more put-together. His hair was somewhat long for a man in the public eye, but when he tilted his head to drink the wine, it showed a short-cropped underlayer, similar to how Connie’s hair was cut. She couldn’t see anything below the table, but he only wore a simple white button-up with the sleeves rolled up to the table, and clearly viewed Kenny’s home as his own home. He looked to be about in his early twenties.

“Our parents aren’t drinkers,” Moblit explained, already having finished half his glass. “They support the prohibition movement, but to be quite honest, I don’t think it will pass any time soon.”

“You’re having no issues,” Hange shot at him. “Look at you, half a glass down!”

Moblit smirked, taking another sip. “And you are not allowed out of the house without supervision, Hange. The boys and I are big fans of this wine.”

“I apologize for him,” Kenny spoke up. “Levi, you should introduce yourself to our guests. And stop being rude at the table, please.”

The bored look continued. “My name is Levi. I live here.”

Kenny scowled. “I took Levi off the streets a couple years back. He was a pickpocketing orphan, and I felt like Kuchel would have scalped me if I did not help him. He’s shown himself to be quite adept with horses, and he’s been no trouble at all, save his rude manners.”

“Excuse me,” Levi said suddenly pushing his chair back from the table. Before he left, he glanced back. “Thank you for the meal, Connie.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Connie replied back before the room fell into stunned silence. The residents of the house merely sighed and continued eating as if nothing had happened, but Hange and Moblit couldn’t quite get their appetite back.

“Is he always like that?” Moblit asked.

Sasha shrugged. “Sometimes. I think he’s stressed about the races soon. He never had parents, so he never learned to be nice to people. He’s an Ackerman by name, though. Thank goodness he doesn’t get out much.”

Moblit found that to be a decent explanation, and carried on eating, but Hange pushed the rest of her food around on her plate, eventually settling on just sipping the wine until it was finished. It made her ears feel warm and her head feel fuzzy, as if someone had pushed cotton balls in front of her forehead. Occasionally she would pick up a green bean and nibble on it. There was no dessert – Connie’s meal had been filling, and something sweet might have made them feel ill.

Eventually, dinner came to a close; Sasha and Connie began clearing the plates and carrying them back to the kitchen. More wine was poured and the remaining three adults sat at the table still, idly chatting about their lives, the impending warning of war, and what to expect from the next couple days. Hange’s mind was on another dimension as she thought about Levi, the grumpy young man who had the nerve to be so rude. Still, she had to admit to herself: he was quite dashing, even in casual clothes. As the light outside faded and the clattering of the dishes stopped, Moblit was the first one to announce he was turning in for the night. Sleepy, Hange followed suit.

Her feet weren’t quite working with the rest of her brain as they tried to make it up the stairs to their bedrooms. “You’ve had a little too much wine, Hange,” Moblit teased. “Let me carry you.”

Hange simply gathered her skirts in her hands as she was swept off the floor into Moblit’s arms and up the steps. “You used to carry me like this when I was sick as a child,” she remarked, immensely grateful for his help.

“You’re my little sister, duh. I have to take care of you,” was Moblit’s reply as he let her stand once they were on the landing. He linked his arm with hers, careful to walk slowly. “By the way, don’t go chasing after that Levi.”

Her room spun for a moment. “What do you mean? We’ve only just met him.”

“I saw the way you looked at him when he made that crass joke at you. I’ve seen that on a lot of women. He’s not worth it, Hange,” Moblit looked at her straight in the eyes, steadier than her. “Mother and Father sent us here to continue the family fortune. Sure, he’s got Kenny’s fortune, but his blood says otherwise. We’ll be the laughingstock of the community.”

“Oh my god, forgive me.”

“Hange!”

“You’re ridiculous!” Hange shouted back, wrestling herself out of their arm-link. “Of course I know what we’re here for. A girl can _dream,_ Moblit!”

Moblit’s voice deepened and he growled back, “then dream with a _purpose_ , Hange.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy valentines day! it's a capitalist holiday anyways so if you don't have a valentine don't worry - I'll be your valentine this year. much love, and as always, thank you so much for reading. ♥


	3. On Happiness

Perhaps it was the alcohol that made Hange so emotional. She frequently bickered with her older brother, but they never raised their voices at each other. Typically, she would shut up, look out a window, and pretend to be unbothered, but tonight, the rage from the expectations she had been raised with boiled over. She had balled her hands into fists within the folds of her dress and nearly ran back to her bedroom, slammed the door shut, and promptly flopped face down onto her (nicely made) bed, letting out an annoyed scream. The muffled noise earned a yelp from Sasha, who had gone entirely unnoticed up until this point.

It was only then that Hange noticed her clothes strewn across the room, rather neatly, and seemingly organized by color, season, and type. On the bed were the long and heavy winter gowns, as well as her coats. On the couch were her summer dresses and frocks. On the coffee table were her undergarments and hats, neatly folded and stacked. Her shoes sat in a nice row at the bottom of the two open wardrobes. Her jewelry and cosmetic box had been placed on the desk, next to her toiletries and a spare oil lamp.

“Is everything alright, Hange?” Sasha asked in a concerned tone, the dress in her hands falling limply into her lap. Her brown eyes were wide and curious, only somewhat visible behind the curtain of brown bangs that framed her face. “I heard your brother and you arguing, but…”

Hange sat back up on the bed, only to get back up and pace. She opened the window by the couch, tilting it open slightly, allowing the cool March breeze to permeate the room. “Sorry Sasha. May I speak informally?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Sasha replied, continuing her job of hanging clothes.

“It’s so… frustrating to never be able to think for myself. My whole life, it’s been you’re allowed to do this, you’re allowed to do that… nobody ever asks me what I want to do!” She took a deep breath. “And even then, they disapprove of that the moment I talk about it and make me feel like dirt about it!”

“Your brother just wants to watch you for you-“ Sasha started, but was cut off.

“No!” Hange shouted. She lowered her tone to nearly a whisper before continuing. “He just cares about what’s good for the family right now. He hardly cares for me personally.”

Sasha sighed. “After all these races and balls and events Hange, you will have no problem finding a lover. I know you can’t be worried about that. What are you actually worried about?”

“I want to get to know Levi. He seems like a rude fellow, but I think we’d get along nicely,” Hange paused by the desk, opening her jewelry box. Inside were several trinkets from her childhood, a photo of her family from last Christmas, and several of her favorite pieces, ranging from simple to rather gaudy. They sparkled and shone like that pretty Tiffany lamp in the room.

“Levi’s closer with Connie and his best mate Erwin than anyone else, but I wouldn’t count on it. You ought to put him out of your mind.”

Hange paced the room some more before stopping to sit on the couch. “Have you ever been in love, Sasha?”

The question takes a moment for her to ponder. “I think so.”

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen as of last week.”

“What’s stopping you from being in love, Sasha?”

“There’s no point in being in love with someone who has nothing to offer but love,” Sasha frowned. “I wish it were as easy as just being in love, but it just isn’t.”

“But it is! All the books say it is. Why can’t it be that easy?” Hange lamented.

Sasha set the clothes down for a second time, this time with determination. “Because I am still a servant, Hange! Get that through your drunk head.”

“What?” The older woman asked, genuinely confused. “What does being a servant have to do with it?”

“No man will marry a servant, as it only serves as a money pit to him. A rich man would make me his mistress, his whore, and have a real lover on the side. A poor man will love me, but do you know what happens when two poor people marry? We stay poor.”

“At least you would be happy with a poor man…”

She shook her head. “Hange, I would like to be more than just a servant one day. It is possible, I know it. I would rather be rich and fat than poor and happy. I want to have children one day, and my own little house, and a dog, and wear nice clothes, and eat meat at more than just Master Kenny’s mercy.”

Hange had to reply to that for a moment. It was a fair point, after all. If one hoped to move up in life, there definitely would be sacrifices. It was like a lightbulb moment for her: of course, there would be sacrifices to living a good life. Maybe Moblit could see more than she could, some larger picture, some more grand idea. Maybe he understood more about the politics of aristocracy than she did. Maybe she had just been kept in the dark and told what to do, never questioning her role in the life she led.

“Sasha, you make a very fair point. But I have something… a proposition, of sorts, for you,” Hange started.

“Go ahead.”

“Find someone who makes you happy. Truly happy. It does not matter if he is rich or poor, just as long as he treats you as if you are the Queen herself. If you still find yourself being a servant, then I will ask Kenny if I may have you with me for the rest of my life. I will treat you not as a servant, but an equal. You deserve dignity. You aren’t trapped by the same type of life I am.”

Hange’s eyes burned with a passion that Sasha didn’t know women could possess. “I have known you for one day, Hange. Typically, the guests in this house expect me to wait on them hand and foot, and practically wipe their arse for them. You’re different. Why are you here?”

She slumped in the couch at the question. “Expectations, Sasha. They really suck. Really, really, really suck.”

“Let me run you a bath, Hange,” Sasha said suddenly, throwing the clothes down in front of her. “And be my friend. You’re worth so much more than just some man.”

“Those both sound really nice,” Hange grinned. “Thank you for listening to me wail on.”

“It’s what friends are for,” Sasha replied, returning the smile and holding a hand out to Hange. She took it, and the two girls gathered her night-things and tottered off to the bathroom.

The British bathroom was quite similar to the American bathroom, but it became apparent to Hange that Kenny had a taste for lavish things even in a washroom. The tub was a well-polished brass to match with all the fixtures, and the towels were thick and plush. There was an ornate-framed mirror that fell from the ceiling to the floor on one wall and a wooden bench by the tub. A separate door led to what she assumed to be the toilet. To her surprise, Sasha simply turned on a tap at the tub and it began filling with steaming water.

“Instant hot water?” She asked.

“There is a boiler downstairs that helps keep the house warm. Kenny found a really skilled plumber, and he made it so that if the boiler is running, it can heat hot water in a tank, then send it to our tubs and sinks. We turned it on earlier for the dishes, so there’s still plenty left for a bath,” Sasha explained. “Here, let me help you get out of your clothes.”

Hange was perfectly capable of undressing and redressing herself, but the help was welcome, especially with her drunk, clumsy fingers. In only a moment, she sunk into the tub and was able to begin scrubbing her skin with a bar of soap. There was a comfortable silence while Sasha removed the pins from her hair and began washing it with a lemon-scented soap.

“My parents raised Moblit and I to be kind, even though we’re wealthy,” Hange told Sasha with her head bent over the tub, lavishing in the feeling of having her hair played with. “They told us money can buy a lot, but it can’t buy us happiness. So it’s better to be kind to someone than mean and offer them payment. And, really, I feel better being kind.”

“I might take you up on that offer from earlier, then,” Sasha replied. “Your hair is done. Let me get you dried off.”

As Sasha ran a brush through her wet hair, Hange sat on the wooden bench, staring at her reflection in the large mirror. She had been told her entire life that she would have no problem finding a husband. And, truthfully, she could see it. Sure, she wasn’t the most beautiful woman in the room – if anything, Sasha had the kind of effortless beauty she envied, with good proportions and that innocence of a girl, not a woman. Hange’s skin tanned easily, making it impossible to go out without a parasol. She was often as tall as most men, and hardly had any chest to make up for it. But her lashes were long and thick, and her eyes the color of burnt honey, and the hair she often cursed was thick and luxurious. If she were a model in Paris, she would fit right in. But instead, she was an eighteen-year-old looking desperate in London.

However, if there was one thing she would never complain about in her life, it was the feeling of being tucked in by someone caring. The bed was a little lonely, but as the knob on the Tiffany light clicked and the door shut softly, she could not deny that she was somehow incredibly lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you're currently experiencing the winter that literally every other state BUT Florida is experiencing right now, I hope you're safe, warm, and in a stable shelter. I realize a good portion of people, especially in Texas, do not have that at the moment - hopefully, things will return back to normal and get better for everyone soon. you're all in my thoughts (esp considering I find it unfair for FL to be 89F and everywhere else to be -15F in FEBRUARY). as always, thank you for reading, and I look forward to seeing everyone on the next chapter. ♥


	4. Merchandise

The highstreet of Kensington was bustling with activity on a Wednesday morning. Between the brightly decorated stalls selling various kinds of street foods, clothing, knickknacks, and specialty services were the brightly lit, well-polished windows of posh stores nestled wherever possible in the side of long buildings. Above them swung signs jutting out from buildings: CHEMIST, COBBLER, INN – all swinging with a slight squeak in the chilly March breeze.

“There’s so much!” Hange exclaimed, clutching the arm of Moblit tightly. “I might spend too much.”

Moblit only grinned at her, clearly happy to see her excitement. The argument of last night had been forgotten for the time being, as better things existed to focus on, such as exploring London and the areas they would be familiar with in the coming months. “You will not spend a single dollar. I, however, will spend too much.”

Hange’s eyes gleamed at Moblit’s refusal to let her pay today. Sure, it didn’t really matter – they both lived off their parent’s money and had both been sent to England with a great sum to spend, but the thought of spending her older brother’s money gave her a certain type of satisfaction.

“Here, didn’t you say you wanted a new hat?” He asks her, directing her to a shop where many embellished hats were on display. It only took a moment for her to tug him inside, drawn in by one particular hat.

The hat itself was reminiscent of American hats that Hange had seen the girls on the prairies wear. It sat towards the back of the head in her favorite shade of deep green, with several layered types of lace detailing on top. Around the back a satin bow was situated, and it wrapped nicely around her neck to tie on the side, framing her face well. “Moblit, it will look so good with my favorite dress!” Hange cried.

“The bow is removable,” the shopkeeper explained to them. “And it has a matching silk scarf. A young woman in the Isle of Man designs these – she calls them _seashore_ hats, as they are not warm and won’t blow off your head. No pins needed!”

“We’ll take them both,” Hange replies.

“You must be an American here for the season,” the shopkeeper remarked as he rang up her items. “You should know, feathers are all the rage this year. I think a nice ostrich feather would suffice.” In a flash, the fluffy white feather had been slipped into the hat box.

She blushed. “Is it obvious, sir?”

The shopkeeper flashed her a warm smile. “Yes. Americans are always so excited about English fashions in the same way a child is excited about a new toy. It never gets old. Unsure of how to reply to his comment, Hange simply thanked the shopkeeper.

“A beautiful woman like you will have no issues finding a husband, I assure you. And sir, you best take good care of her. I imagine she will be quite expensive,” the shopkeeper tells them as they leave.

Leaving the shop let them into dazzling sunshine, a treat in comparison to yesterday’s gray arrival. Still, it was hard to enjoy for the two. Being reminded of their status, of the impending dowries they would pay and be paid, made it difficult to merely just… exist within the streets.

Moblit frowned as they meandered down the street, occasionally pointing out exciting looking stalls for Hange to browse. After a couple stalls, they walked close together, him clutching the hat box under one arm and linking his other with hers.

“I’m not sure I liked that man,” he stated.

“Oh, who? The hat man?” Hange asked, pulling the brim of her hat lower against the sun. “I thought he was quite nice.”

“He spoke of you like you were another piece of merchandise,” Moblit muttered. “While I understand it is a reality, you’re still more than merchandise to me. You’re my little sister. He shouldn’t have said it.”

“It was honest,” Hange defended, biting her lip. “It isn’t your fault that the rest of the world can’t see me as an equal.”

He stared straight ahead. “Maybe not an equal. But you are more than merchandise – you’re too smart to be sold like a hat.”

It was silent for a moment as they continued down the street, eventually coming to stop in front of a shop that read in ornate writing FINE BRITISH TEA. They stepped inside, and the smell of dozens of types of tea assaulted them at once. Different kinds of leaves stood on display in large glass jars, and what they assumed to be the finer teas sat in smaller glass jars behind a glass display counter, where a variety of different pastries added a pop of color to the shop. It was somewhat spacious inside, with a couple small tables for two to sit at and presumably drink tea. The shopkeeper waved at them as they walked in, clearly busy helping another customer.

“I have been meaning to try some good British tea,” Moblit declared, opening one of the jars to smell the leaves inside. He offered to Hange, who took a polite sniff – she was much more interested in coffees, but she respected her brother’s enjoyment of tea.

“Try this one,” she lifted the lid to a particularly nicely colored tea and beckoned Moblit over. His eyes widened and he took another strong sniff.

“That’s the one,” he decided.

“Hey, Moblit,” Hange murmured as they bent over the jar. “Thank you for always having faith in me. Love you.”

“Love you too, Hanz,” Moblit replied. The nickname had started when they were children and never died out for the elder sibling. He reached above the jar to a shelf where some of the tea had already been packaged in brightly colored tins. “Love your ability to choose tea, too.”

As they approached the counter, it became apparent who the shopkeeper had been helping. It was none other than a familiar short black-haired man himself.

“Levi,” Hange smiled. “Good to see you enjoying the nice weather and getting out.”

“Oh, you know each other?” The shopkeeper asked. He was much older, with silvery blonde hair and a well-trimmed beard. “Levi, that delivery should be there Friday evening at the latest. Please let Connie know to send a couple rolls back with the deliveryman.”

A confused look between the siblings made Levi’s resting annoyed face look somehow even _more_ annoyed. “Mr. Smith here provides our household with tea monthly.”

“The Ackermans are some of my best customers – plus, I cannot turn up Connie’s cooking. We do good business,” Mr. Smith supplied. “Well, you’re free to go Levi. Send my best wishes to the house.”

“It’s a pleasure, Mr. Smith,” Levi stated on his way out, nearly knocking into the side of the doorframe in his haste to leave. The door slammed shut behind him, sending the shop into a stunned silence.

After a moment, Moblit awkwardly held out the tin of tea for Mr. Smith to ring up. “I take it he isn’t a fan of yours,” Mr. Smith commented.

“We just met last night,” Moblit replied. “So far, I’m not impressed.”

“He’s usually quite pleasant, actually…” Mr. Smith muttered. “Here’s your change.”

Moblit pocketed the change with a thank-you. As they left, Hange shot him a furious glance. “What was with that?!” She cried.

“I thought you appreciated honesty,” Moblit replied coolly. “I’m not impressed, at all. I think he’s a quite rude fellow. You shouldn’t concern yourself with him, even for a moment.”

“Goodness, I just want to be his friend, not his lover!” Hange’s voice dropped to a whisper.

Her tone was easily matched by the older man. “That wasn’t what you let on last night, Hanz. I told you, go ahead and dream – but dream with a purpose, damnit!”

“I hate when you say that,” she declared in response. “I hate when you’re right.”

“Come on,” Moblit tugged her across the street. “I will be right as long as I am your older brother. Didn’t you say you need a new coat while we were on the ship? Let’s find you a new coat, then.

“You ought to get something blue. I don’t care for the man, but Levi is racing on behalf of Kenny’s name tomorrow, and he wears blue on his horses.”

“Why should I match the horses if you don’t like him?” Hange asks, scanning the store for something that might suit her.

“While we live with Kenny, we represent him, remember?” Moblit explained, taking a coat off a rack on the wall and holding it up to Hange before frowning and putting it back. “He takes in orphan children, he’s quiet, but he’s well respected in the community. You must stand out to potential suitors, yes, but we must be well dressed regardless of if we match a horse or not.”

“Blue is just a way to establish ourselves…” Hange trailed off as she approached a display.

On a seamstress’ mannequin a deep blue coat was proudly displayed. It featured a long cape-like back and a shortened V-neck bodice, coming to just below the ribcage. It was made of fine velvet and sported silver buttons, with a sharply pleated collar and sleeves. Within the moment, Hange had grabbed one off the nearby rack and marched her way off to pay for it.

With all their purchases in tow, they decided to head back to the house, where Hange excitedly showed off the coat to Sasha. Moblit sat on the couch in her room with a teapot and cups on the table, methodically brewing the tea as he always did back in America. Their coats had come off, their formal outwear strewn aside, and the laces of Hange’s corset loosened – the siblings essentially sat in their loungewear, making Sasha look overdressed in her plain outfit.

Dinner came and passed with another delectable meal by Connie. They had begun to fall into a welcome routine by having dinner as a household every night, followed by chatter about the day over some kind of wine and a good wash up before bed. Hange had finally, in a somewhat embarrassed state, asked Kenny if he had any sweeter wine than before and found herself much more appreciative of the chilled and slightly fizzy variety that the servants drank. Her nightly chats with Sasha became common, whether they were about boys, fashion, or anything under the sun. She had finally found someone who was interested to listen to her rambles about the medical marvels of the 20th century, and Sasha had finally found someone who was interested to listen to her rambles about different types of food and drinks across the globe.

“The races are tomorrow, so please make sure you’re ready early,” Kenny told them as they exited the dining room. Levi had been strangely absent from dinner with no mention of any type of excuse – the siblings assumed it might be common. Nothing notable at all.

Sasha had told her not to wash her hair tonight as they would be curling it tomorrow, so Hange sat in front of the window in the bathroom later that night, brushing her brown locks out to make sure they were free of tangles. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement and paused, taking a moment to observe what was happening out below.

The stable outside was barely visible in the light of several hanging lamps giving a warm glow over the area. Still, Levi was clearly visible as he brushed out the mane of a horse before braiding it’s hair back on it’s neck. What she could only assume was riding gear for the horses sat on standby, well-polished and shining in the dim light.

_He looks so peaceful,_ she thought, remembering how he had almost seemed angry in the tea shop earlier that day. There was such a stark difference between the two interactions. That starkness lit the fire of curiosity normally reserved for her medical books deep in Hange’s heart. Surely, she would get to know that peaceful side of him better. It was possible, she knew it.

_Tomorrow will be interesting_ , she mused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> probably gonna change the summary for this story, as my notepad skeleton for this is going in a COMPLETELY different direction than I anticipated. for those of you asking for me to get a move on: slow burn tag, y'all. it's *slow.*

**Author's Note:**

> hello! thank you for reading my story. this is largely inspired by an anonymous ask I received on Tumblr for a story with the social season theme, and after some research, I realized it's a really freakin' cool idea. so I wrote it. 
> 
> this is gonna be a long one, so strap yourselves in.
> 
> before I'm asked: yes, Sasha/Connie/Moblit/everyone else will definitely have more personality than what I've presented here in the first chapter. slow burn, people. not just for the romance. character development takes ~time~. 
> 
> as always, feel free to leave me your feedback. your commends, kudos, likes, reblogs, and messages always brighten my day and inspire me to write more. thank you so very much!


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